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Give him this letter, child, and bid him take it to the Lodge at Newgate without loss of time. “Veronica!” cried Miss Stanley, warningly, and, “Peter!” For a moment they seemed on the verge of an altogether desperate scuffle. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. In the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill, where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the door. John knew better. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. Melusine seized her chance.
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